If You Can't Stand The Heat
by OnceUponAWahey
Summary: Killian started working in the kitchen at a young age, his mother taking him under her culinary wing. But his life becomes muddled, and he decides to leave his past and his home behind him. When arriving at a new town he stumbles into a new chapter of his life. So can he find not only culinary success, but love along the way? You know what they say. If you can't stand the heat...
1. Prologue

**A/N: So I know I've been gone a while, but I'm back with a mini-series! It'll only be a few chapters but if you're up for it I think it'll be worth it! So I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you do, and I hope that you'll all want to stick around and see what happens next! It's sure to be an interesting ride... also because it only let's you have a few characters for the summary I'm going to go ahead and put the real summary I wrote here..**

**Summary: ****_Being born above his mother's restaurant, Killian Jones had his hands in the kitchen from an early age. By teaching him everything she knew, his mother insured he would be ready when the business was handed down to him. But with the past looming over him, Killian decides it best to leave; to uproot his life as he journeys all over the countryside. _**

**_When he incurs yet another bump in the road, it leads him to one Emma Swan. He finds himself drawn not only to her and the rustic town, but a struggling restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Can he find not only culinary success, but love along the way? _**

**_Well you know what they say, if you can't stand the heat…_**

The wooden stool was placed right next to the stove, giving the small boy just enough room to reach up and stir the bubbling liquid. (It had been there as long as the boy could remember, something his parents had added as soon as he was old enough). A smile spread across his face as he pulled the long wooden spoon from the mixture, sneaking a taste while his mother's back was turned. His tongue briefly stuck out of the right side of his mouth, his forehead crinkling as he thought for a second. Upon making a decision, he turned and glanced over his shoulder, before finally sneaking a handful of his mother's secret spices into the sauce. He sloshed some of the liquid onto the eye of the stove, having rushed the mixing to avoid getting caught.

"I saw that," his mother teased, nudging his small shoulder with hers. She caught the mischievous glint in his bright azure eye; it was the look that always gave him away. She simply smirked, putting her hands on her hips and watching as some of the façade dropped with a muttered sorry. She smiled, leaned down and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, whispering a well done in his ear. She stood up, ruffling his hair and returning his large grin, as she stuck her own spoon into the pot.

Closing her eyes, she let the liquid slip from the utensil and coat her taste buds, a smile pulling at her lips unconsciously. When she opened her eyes again, she couldn't help but catch the hopeful, toothless grin that was being flashed in return.

"You've done good, baby," She told him, picking him up in her arms and spinning them both in a quick circle. His laughter floated, and echoed through the kitchen, his joy contagious for all those who heard it.

In the moment, the two were oblivious to the rag, which fell gently from the upper shelf, finding its resting spot on the ever-heating burner. Which is where it would stay, until it was too late.

As the scene transformed into one of pure terror, Killian woke up with a start, his forehead slick with the cold sweat that always accompanied that dream. Years had gone bye, the young child reaching the age of twenty-one, and still he couldn't shake the terrors that he became all too real that night.

It was as fresh in his mind now; as if it had happened yesterday. The way the flames licked the side of their small cottage, the way the heat climbed with the suffocating smoke. He could still remember the piercing screams of his father as he pulled his son's small body from the flames; the way it felt as if his skin was melting off when the fire reached him quicker than anyone could prevent. But more than anything, he could recall the look in his mother's eye when she realized she wasn't going to be making it out alive, and the words she yelled that would forever haunt him.

The memories were becoming too much to handle. Killian jumped from the bed, the current weight of his thoughts unbearable. He ran to the bathroom, throwing water in his face, and he did his best to ignore the bloodshot appearance of his eyes, along with the burns that would forever mar his skin. It would always serve as a reminder of the past he would prefer to leave behind. He slipped his mother's necklace over his head and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling tightly on the strands before dropping his head down onto the cool counter. He moved from the bathroom to the bedroom window, brushing the sheer curtains aside and looking out at the countryside with a resigned sigh.

He knew he couldn't run forever; that his past wasn't something that could simply be left behind in the dust of a back road. It wasn't something that could just disappear in a rear-view mirror, but it was something he preferred to leave at the back of his mind.

For a while he took to finding solace in rum bottles, drinking away his troubles as soon as he was given the chance. But it wasn't long until even that didn't work; instead it increased the depression- _knowing _that's not what his mother had wanted for him.

Until he finally chose to focus instead on the culinary dream instilled in him through the few chances he got to cook with his mother. It was time to do something that would make her proud.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I know it's short but there shall be more to come! **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here it is the next installment! Now it's about twice the length of the last time so I hope you all enjoy it! 3 I've worked hard on it and am really hoping that you all get the same amount of enjoyment out of it as I've been getting! **

Killian threw his old, leather bag into the trunk, slamming the rusted metal with both of his hands, a small smile of triumph forming at the groan of protest produced by the rusted hinges. He took one last look at the hostel that had been his home, before getting into the drivers side, and slamming the door, _and his past,_behind him. While he knew his past was bumpy and full of rough patches, he wasn't all that sure his future would hold anything better. So with a sigh, he turned the key in the ignition three times before the green, metal death trap finally roared to life, the next chapter of his life beginning as well.

He cranked the window down, beating his hand against the rubber steering wheel when the glass only rolled down part of the way._All he wanted was some fresh air. _Killian tried the air conditioner, only to get black dust flying out at his face instead of the standard cold air. He cursed loudly, slamming his hand down on the button, trying to stop the onslaught of debris.

Trying to relieve some of the pounding that was starting in his skull, he went to flip on the radio, praying that music could calm some of his nerves. However, the small button popped off and fell onto the floorboard of the passenger's side, all the while static began playing through the scratchy speakers.

He wanted nothing more at that moment to turn around, to go back. After all if it was starting out like this, _then_ _what was the point in even trying_? He shook his head at the thought, remembering the path he had been on compared to what his mother had wanted for him all those years ago. _He could do this._At least, that's what he was so desperate to convince himself of.

He made about fifty miles before he couldn't take it any longer, he had to get out, had to get a breather. Killian pulled off at the nearest gas station, all but running inside for the bliss that was cool air. His shirt was soaked completely, the material sticking to his skin uncomfortably, no amount of pulling or rearranging helping the problem. With a sigh, he stopped attempting to fix it, focusing instead on how dry his throat felt. Noticing it even more so now, was the scratching that felt like nails every time he swallowed.

He made his way to the cooler; grabbing the largest bottle of water he could find, ready to end his journey, although he was none to eager to get back into his traveling sauna. He threw his crumpled notes onto the counter, not waiting for change before unscrewing the bottle cap and downing half of the cool liquid. The man behind the counter grumbled under his breath before dropping the three coins next to Killian's hand.

"Thanks, mate."

Gathering the change with an almost sarcastic smile, Killian made his way out to the car, pulling on the handle as he took another gulp of the refreshing liquid. He was thankful for the chance to get out of the heat, and restore the liquids he was obviously lacking, but the eagerness just to get this drive over with won over the desire to enjoy the cool air for any longer.

However, the door handle refused to give way.

"What else could possibly be wrong with you?" He cursed, kicking the rusted side with the toe of his boot, a chip of green paint fluttering lightly to the ground and causing his cursing to escalate. He kicked it a few more times, expletives occasionally slipping from his mouth in-between attacks. He huffed, sliding down the side and drinking the last of the remaining water. It was a few moments after that in which he heard the distinct pop, the handle finally un-latching, allowing him to open the door.

"Useless piece of junk."

He dropped the bottle into the seat next to him; _of course the stupid contraption wouldn't have cup holders_. He cursed it once more, _just for good measure, _before he was back on the seemingly endless journey.

Time seemed to pass slowly; between the unbearable heat, the cacophony sound that came with the broken radio, and nothing to look at but open fields, Killian felt as if he was going to lose it at any given moment. He didn't know that this was the easy part; that nothing could manage to prepare him for his next hurdle.

The car made an unholy, gear-grinding, screech out of nowhere. Smoke billowed out of the front, blocking out any visibility Killian may have had. He cursed once more, _a habit this car was creating_, while trying his best to pull safely off the back road. As soon as he could, he threw the door open, and stomped to the front. Reaching underneath he applied pressure to the lever, opening the small hood and getting gassed with all the smoke being emitted. He choked and coughed, his lungs trying to expunge the smoke in which he had accidently inhaled.

He kicked the tire, letting a scream rip from his chest and echo over all of the desolate land. He reached into his pocket pulling out his phone; which had an exterior, which closely mimicked that of the now-smoking monstrosity.

"God fucking damn it," He cursed, of course he would have no bars. Snapping it shut, he hurled the ancient piece of technology a dull thud sounding when it finally crash-landed in the nearby field. He hoped the useless thing was shattered beyond repair, _it's not like it was worth much anyway. _He sank down to the ground, uncaring as to the dirt he was now surely going to be covered in. He had other things to worry about. His hand ran through his hair, his fingers pulling at his dark strands as he let out another ear-shattering scream. This had to be a sign. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. This was it; there was no way out of this.

There wasn't another town in either direction for miles, his phone was useless, and he wouldn't be able to reach anything on foot without passing out from dehydration. So with a resigned sigh, he got up, opening the back door, and fell in a heap across the back seat. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he laid there in wait. For what he wasn't sure, but there wasn't anything in his power that could be done.

The sun was beginning to set when he heard it, the sound of other tires coming down the gravel trail. He sat up abruptly, looking out of all the small windows. In the distance he could see a small car coming up the path. He jumped out of the car, moving to stand on the trunk and waving his hands in the air while yelling. The car pulled to a stop next to him, and the passenger window rolled down.

"You need help?" He heard, moving to answer. He leaned down and his breath caught in his throat. The driver was a woman, not just any woman, but one that would put bloody sirens to shame. Her blonde hair fell in loose curls around her face and over her chest. Her pink lips pulled back into a smile that reached her olive colored eyes with a sparkle. Her eyebrow raised as he stood there staring, no doubt with his mouth hanging open.

"Uh, yes," He stammered, color coating his cheeks as he realized his mistake. His hand moved to scratch behind his ear as he stood, shaking his head and muttering to himself. _He was an idiot. _He had seen plenty of women before, had even bedded a few, and yet, this woman made him lose all functioning capabilities with so little as three words. _What was wrong with him?_

"So what happened?" She asked moving to the trunk and pulling out cables, hooking one end to the trailer hitch, and the other to the front of his car.

"I couldn't tell you," He told her, exasperation in his tone as he kicked the tire once more. She laughed at his actions, the sound causing him to crack a smile for the first time all day.

"Well, I can pull you into town. I know the mechanic went home for the night, but you're more than welcome to crash with me," She offered, shrugging slightly and pausing, waiting for his answer.

"I would hate to impose. But if you would be so kind as to pull me in I can find a place to stay-," He told her with a smile, the grin faltering when he realized he didn't know how to properly address her.

"If you're sure. I can pull you, but you'll need to sit in your car and steer. Oh, and it's Emma by the way," She told him smiling softly as he thanked her, telling her his name as well, and got in the drivers seat. She followed his lead, getting into her car and flashing him a thumbs up in her mirror. He returned it as she started up her engine and began the rest of the winding drive into town.

As they got closer, buildings became clearer, and the city lights shone dimly in the early morning light. It was the small building just on the outskirts of town that caught his attention. Ivy was growing on the brick outside, and the lights inside were on, casting soft shadows on the dining tables and seating outside. He only got a few seconds to look at it, entranced in the simplistic beauty it seemed to emit, before the tree line put it out of sight.

They drove for fifteen more minutes before she finally turned into a parking lot.

"Well this is you," She told him with a final smile, gathering up the rope and throwing it back into her trunk.

"What was that building? The small one on the edge of town?" He asked her as she turned to leave, stopping her before she finally made it to her car.

"It's just a small restaurant on the edge of town. It's not much, just something locally owned," She told him before bidding him a final goodnight and getting in her car and leaving him alone in the parking lot.

He smiled and waved as she pulled out. He sighed, pulling his bag out of the trunk and making his way into the lobby. He smiled as he booked himself a room and decided not only to see the beauty that was Emma again, but to also pay the locally owned restaurant a visit. She had to be a sign; his mother was looking out for him.

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! Feel free to leave some love if you did! 3**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know it's been quite a bit... but school has been crazy and well this story takes me a lot longer than a normal piece. I'm really invested in it and I want it to be the best it can be. Sadly, with me writing it that's not very likely lol but I love it nonetheless and hope you will enjoy this chapter as well! It's a nice and long one ;) Not a ton of Captain Swan yet, but fear not that is coming! **

Killian groaned, rolling over in the hard bed, and pushing the lumpy pillow onto his face in exasperation. He hadn't slept much the night before, the bed having been as comfortable as a slate of rock. It didn't help that his mind was a jumbled mess; thoughts had been flying through his mind in a relentless assault. All of which added up to an especially early morning.

The sunrise seemed to bounce off every surface in the room, covering everything within the room in its early morning light. His hands fumbled along the nightstand looking for his beat-up phone, _one that now had a shattered display_, flipping it open long enough so that his bleary eyes could make out the time.

With a final mumbled curse, he was up, stumbling his way through the small room and into the bathroom. Rubbing his hands down his face slowly, he made eye contact with his reflection. He stared for a few moments, before dropping his head and clenching his eyes shut. Turning and leaning against the counter, he collected himself for a moment before moving and turning the water on in the shower. He stuck his hand in, trying to gauge if the water was warming up before going about his next task.

He slipped out of his black t-shirt and stripped boxers, taking in a deep breath of the steam now fogging up the small room. Stepping into the heated water, a groan escaped his lips, the water working to soothe his sore and aching muscles. He stood unmoving for a few minutes, his head held under the stream, while his hands pressed against the white tiles for support. With a deep sigh, he set about his normal routine, roughly lathering the shampoo into his hair, and scraping the soap against his skin. After being properly lathered, he enjoyed the effects of the water pressure once more, shutting off the tap after a few more pleasurable minutes passed.

Getting out of the shower, he slung a towel loosely around his waist, grabbing the remaining one. He exited the bathroom surrounded by a cloud of warm steam. Looking out the window, he ran the towel over his hair repeatedly, shaking the cloth violently as he went. He sung the piece of fabric haphazardly onto the corner chair when he was through with it.

Killian meandered over to his satchel, digging through the meager contents before producing a clean pair of boxers. He moved to the next bag, getting out a new black shirt and pulling it up to his nose. _Okay, maybe not so new._ Cringing slightly, he threw the shirt aside, forcibly digging until he produced another one. This one smelled cleaner than the last. Dropping the towel from around his waist, he pulled on his clothes, and ran his fingers through his hair. _No point in trying to mess with something that had a mind of it's own anyways. _He sighed, throwing his room key, car keys and phone into his satchel, leaving the partially destroyed room behind him.

He got directions from the man in the lobby, much too eager to get his car back and freely explore. _The directions however, only served to point out how little he knew of the language and the geography_. It took him thirty minutes to find the car shop that was a mere two blocks from where he had stayed the night. He was already on his last nerve by the time he got there.

"What do you mean it's going to take a week?" Killian sneered, his voice rising on every punctuated syllable. He was fed up, and taking it out on the poor repairman. The man pulled the hat from atop his head, ringing it in his hands and looking down at the ground. He tried to explain to the crazed man in his shop that it would take a while to get parts for such an old model. Killian forcibly ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots and once again cursing the piece of junk. _How many times would it serve to let him down?_

"Well what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" He asked as he let his tired body fall into the nearest chair, his head hanging in his hands. He was a picturesque example of exhausted- mentally and physically.

"We might have something," The man suggested, motioning for Killian to follow him. Which he did, albeit reluctantly, dragging his feet across their linoleum floors the entire way.

"This?" Killian didn't even attempt to hold in the disbelief coating the very word. _A scooter. _They wanted him to ride around on a pastel-blue moped, _for a week_. One, that much like his green monstrosity, looked like it was ready to fall to pieces at any given moment. Not to mention the thing was installed with pedals- should the engine decide to give out. There was no way that _this _is what the man had in mind.

"I'm sorry monsieur that's the only thing we can offer you at this point in time." The man told him, his head hung looking at the ground once more. Killian took a deep breath through his nose and with an exhaled groan accepted the meager excuse of transportation. _He had to get around somehow. _He nodded, accepting the meager offer, and tried to apologize for his behavior, tried to explain the reason for such an attitude.

So with the keys in hand, Killian was finally going to get to what he wanted to do all morning. _Or he would eventually_. Whenever he could get the motor to start.

The tree line seemed much longer this time; the moped only reaching an exhilarating speed of twenty-two miles per hour, _in its good moments_. Cars passed and honked, some even slowing down enough to smile and wave mockingly out of the windows, before they finally speed up, leaving an irritated Killian in their dust. The urge to lift one hand off the bars long enough to flash one particular gesture ran through Killian's mind quite a few times.

It took him twenty minutes to make a seven-minute trip. So when he finally pulled into the gravel lot, all he wanted to do was chuck the piece of garbage. But still, he locked it up, not without giving it one swift kick before leaving it. He turned finally take in the building that stood before him.

Its brown and white-bricked exterior was coated in ivy, the green plant covering almost the entire exterior. The front door was a faded green, paint chipping off in multiple places. Dust and grime clouded the three large windows that lined the front, blocking an outsider from getting a quick glimpse of what lay inside. The roof had deep brown asphalt tiles, but like the door was lacking in certain areas. It was a bit of a fixer upper.

Killian's shoes crunched on the gravel, the sound ringing throughout the open area. After all, the parking lot housed only one car alongside his sad excuse of a scooter.

The stairs to the front door creaked, and moaned under the pressure change as he stepped up onto the small porch. Covering his eyes with both his hands, he tried to peer in through the fogged glass, but came up with nothing. Slowly, he moved to the door and debated knocking, deciding just to try the handle before it gave way and he pushed inside.

He stood stock still in the entrance, an internal debate on what to look at first constantly running through his mind. The ceiling was painted like an open sky with a few dark treetops blocking out the otherwise clear scene. The bar looked as if they had just taken a tree, cut it in half and laid it on it's side. Lining them were wooden stools, each stunted than the one before it, each one housing a small mismatched green cushion. The other tables scattered throughout the space were not much better. It looked like a patch of trees had grown through the floor, their trunks taken to build the bar and their stumps left as a makeshift table. All of the stumps sat lined with green pillows rather than chairs, causing Killian to question just what the owner had in mind when decorating such a place. _He had never seen anything quite like it._

Someone spoke up from behind him suddenly, causing him to jump. Killian turned, finding a man looking at him expectantly. Killian hadn't quite caught what the man was trying to say, so he just shrugged sheepishly. Sensing the confusion on his face, the man tried once more, this time in English.

"Are you here to dine sir?"

Killian nodded slowly, feeling a little like a child caught snooping.

"Uh, sure," Killian said it hesitantly, hoping that the man wouldn't hear so much of the indecision in his voice. If he did, he made no indication of such.

The man reached over the wooden podium, producing one, dark, forest green menu. He sauntered off into the dining room, head held high, and gestured for Killian to follow.

Killian groaned slightly as his sore muscles protested the distance it took for him to sit down one of the pillows. He looked up the man who was now several feet taller, rather than a few centimeters smiled down at him.

The scruff along the man's jaw line and the matching green of the chef's coat he was wearing told Killian about all he needed to know. _Suddenly the choice in décor was starting to make sense._ The man cleared his throat, pulling Killian out of his musings.

"I'm Robin. I'm the owner of Mélange Parfait de Forêt, but more importantly I will be your server this morning. Would you like to hear the specials?" He asked with a kind smile. Killian couldn't help but note a heavy English accent despite where the man had taken up residence.

Killian's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Robin seemed to take that as the go-ahead, launching into their specials of the day. Killian tried to keep up; looking down at the menu and trying to spot the dish he was being told about, but to no avail. The language was posing as a barrier yet again.

"I'll give you a few moments to decide," Robin smiled warmly, before disappearing through the swinging doors into what Killian could only assume was the kitchen. He sat listening to the soft wind blowing through the trees; the only sound among the silence. He closed his eyes enjoying the momentary peace and quiet. That is until a large crash echoed from the kitchen, getting louder as it rang over the wooden surfaces in the dinning room. Killian looked around, debating internally, before standing up. His legs once again protested the change, the blood rushing to circulate as he made his way across the room and into the back. They really needed to get some chairs for the patrons because the pillows were not cutting it.

"Everything okay back here?" He asked poking his head through the door. What he found had been the furthest thing from what he expected. He took in the chrome equipment and the bright blue tiles that covered the walls. His gaze then drifted downwards.

A small boy stood smiling up at him, flour coating his cheeks. The blue tiles of the wall and the white ones of the floor speckled with flour, much like the boys hair. How he had managed to get the flour on every surface would remain a mystery to Killian.

"Hi," the boy muttered shyly, his foot kicking at the flour lightly, spraying dust all over the bottoms of Killian's pants. The boy's eyes widened comically, before he stuttered out apologies left and right, running to get a cloth in which to pass off to the man. Killian chuckled slightly, reassuring the small child that everything was fine, that accidents happen, taking the small towel and wiping uselessly at the powder. The small boy thanked him in return for the kind reassurances, and introduced himself as Roland. He stuck his small hand out in offering.

"What were you trying to make?" Killian asked, bending down to his level, clasping his small hand in his own.

"Papa was teaching me how to make b-beignets. Then the phone rang and I accidently knocked the bowl over," Roland told him, red coloring his face, a bashful grin showcasing the dimples in his small cheeks. Killian caught sight of the broom in the corner and reached over to grab it.

"Does papa make good beignets?" Killian asked as he moved to shovel some of the flour into a dustpan found nearby.

"Sometimes. But then sometimes he uses the organic stuff and it comes out tasting like dirt," he told him with a small giggle, trying to help clean up some of the mess. The comment helped click the final puzzle pieces into place.

"Does your father always use these organic ingredients?" Killian asked with a wry smile.

"He tries to. Says it's what's going to put this place on the map, what's going to get it the three stars, or something," Roland told him as he absentmindedly switched from cleaning up the mess to drawing small shapes into the white powder.

"Roland what happened? Sir, you aren't supposed to be back here," Robin stuttered out all at once as he came across the scene in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to help," Killian told him putting his hands up in surrender as he stood. He hadn't meant any harm.

"Actually I was wondering, any chance you're hiring?" Killian asked with a cheeky grin, winking at Roland, who was now pulling on his father's pants leg. Robin glanced down at him, Robin shooting a smile up at him in return.

"And what makes you think you'd fit in here?" Robin asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.

"I know that good spices go along way. And organic doesn't have to mean it tastes like dirt. Right Roland?" Killian smiled, turning to the boy at the end of his small speech. He held his hand out for a high five. Roland giggled as he slapped his small palm against Killian's.

"Prove it," Robin challenged.

Killian simply smirked and made his way over to the stove. He would show this man and his son just what he could do in the kitchen. That having him on staff would benefit them, and maybe in turn he could get some real culinary training. And then maybe next time, he could show the mysterious woman Emma as well.

**A/N: I hope you liked it! Leave some love if you did? Until next time lovelies! **


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